


Scars In Bars

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [7]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-05 11:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: A night on the town, a bit of fun. Discussion of who has more scars.





	Scars In Bars

Scars in Bars.

A night on the town.

.

AJ laughed as Dean shoulder-butted Cosmo into Remy. Remy shoved him back so he stumbled into Jimmy. Jimmy showed that he was really stronger than anticipated by scooping Cosmo into a fireman’s carry. He managed several steps before Cosmo’s flailing limbs overbalanced him. AJ and Jet grabbed Cosmo while Dean and Tim kept Jimmy from landing on his face. They all laughed at that.

AJ opened the door to O’Shay’s and led the way in. He’d called ahead as soon as they’d decided to come here. They all deserved a real treat after all they’d done. The Spartan Run had been the culmination of their efforts to requalify, and they’d succeeded. 

“Pizza’s on me.” Jethro, who everyone now called Jet, followed the hostess as she expertly threaded her way through the crowd to the big corner table.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice raised to be heard above the usual barroom cacophony. The hostess eyed the group, hoping that they weren’t going to be a pain in the ass.

“Fine. Thank you.” Tim tucked a ten into her hand. “Keep it, no argument.”

The hostess pocketed the bill with a soft ‘Thank you.’ Very few people thought to tip her, even though she was responsible for assigning tables and overseeing service.

O’Shay’s was a bar which catered to military, police and federal agents of all sorts. They served drinks and food, and had pool tables and several dart boards. The help were mostly retired military or police, or children of same. It was a safe place to blow off some steam, drink your troubles away, or celebrate.

A waitress showed up and handed out menus and took drink orders, then went to the bar to bring back their beer. Since everyone had decided on the standard Guinness by the pint, it would be a few minutes. While they waited, they decided on pizza.

The waitress, whose name tag read Alicia, brought their beer and took their order. She didn’t question their order of four extra-large supreme pizzas; she was used to big eaters. She didn’t even question the fact that they wanted two with and two without anchovies. She did question their order of two appetizer platters. Those usually fed three adults, without additions. 

It did seem like a lot, even for seven healthy men. But, as the saying went, hers was not to question why, although she hoped she’d never have to do or die—as too many of her customers probably risked doing on a routine basis. She went away again, turned in her order, and headed for her next table.

She returned once to check on drinks and tell the table that their appetizers would only be about six more minutes. 

AJ grinned at her. “Thanks. Keep the beer coming. Open a tab in my name. Okay?”

“Yes, sir. LtCmd. DiNozzo. Right?” AJ nodded. “And ...” she craned her neck at the kitchen, “pizza should be up in twenty minutes.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Cosmo grimaced. “Just be sure to put the anchovy ones over there,” he gestured to the other end of the table.

The men had shuffled around a bit, getting those that liked anchovies at one end and those that didn’t on the other. 

Dean agreed. “Anchovies. Rotten little fish. Yuck.”

AJ snorted. “That’s nothing. I know someone who eats cheeseless with pickles, peanut butter, and hot sauce.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “No way, man. That’s too far out there.”

Tim snorted into his beer. “No, that’s my sister. AJ, I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember because it’s ... gross.” AJ made a face into his beer, but chuckled. “She’s a real piece of work. How’s she doing?”

“Okay. She’s still working on her degree. And she’s started to write a bit.” Tim sighed. “She’s not really that good.”

Remy shrugged. “Give her time. She’ll either get better or give it up. She can always teach.”

Tim scowled. “Maybe. But ...” He gave up that thought as the appetizers arrived.

There was a laughing argument about who would get what. Jet solved that by taking his favorite cheesy potato skins off one platter and dumping them on his plate. “Now. Everyone can have everything else.” Cries of “Grabby, dude,” “No fair,” and “Jet!” didn’t faze him at all.

AJ picked up one platter and scooted jalapeño poppers and mozzarella sticks off onto his plate. “Here. There’s plenty. And pizza to follow. No one get drunk yet.” He passed the platter to Remy and settled in to eat.

The platters went around the table twice and were scraped clean. They finished the appetizers just as the pizza arrived. 

The waitress dumped the pizzas on the table with a smile. “Smelly fish, there. Extra cheese here. And refills all ‘round?”

They agreed with that with a cheer and dove on the pizza as if they hadn’t seen food in months. AJ helped himself to one slice of extra cheese and one with anchovies. Then he took one slice and turned it upside down on the other, effectively making a sandwich of them. 

Jet eyed that then said, “I seriously do not want to know.”

McGee shrugged, did the same and announced, “It keeps the sauce off my tie. No problem.”

“Dude! You’re not wearing a tie.” Dean's rather scandalized tone brought about another spate of laughter.

All the others copied that and realized that it did help keep drips down. It also kept their hands from getting greasy. 

Conversation, and beer, flowed; the pizza was finished. AJ, knowing his men, ordered another round of appetizers. These were greeted with cheers and grabby hands.

AJ laughed, then demanded, “Okay, you squids, settle down. There’s enough for everyone ... and if there isn’t, we’ll order more. Darts?”

This abrupt change in subject threw Jimmy, Tim, and Jet off. The SEALs all just refused with various rude remarks.

Jet announced, “I’ll play.”

Dean shook his head sadly. “Oh, no. No, you really don’t want to do that.”

“And why not?”

“Master Marksman, Sharpshooter. He’s hell with darts too.”

Jet snorted into his beer. “Yeah, well. Scout Sniper. Retired, I’ll admit, but I’ve still got a good eye.”

Cosmo gave Jet a mournful look. “Well, have it your way then.” He dropped a twenty on the table. “AJ.”

Jimmy added a bill. “Jet.”

Tim added his as well. “Jet.”

All the SEALs bet on AJ and the match was on.

That was when Jet realized that not only did AJ have bizarre rules for the game, they would be throwing over their shoulder.

“AJ, you asshole.” Jet eyed the SEALs with disfavor. “And you bunch. You could have warned me.”

Remy saluted him with his glass. “And where would be the fun in that?”

Jet snorted, “Jerk.” He looked at AJ questioningly and asked, “Legs?” AJ nodded, rattled off the list of ‘extra’ rules again then smirked at him.

Dean got a score pad and two sets of darts from the bartender and returned to the table to keep score. Since Legs was simple, just throw the darts and add the scores, he could do the job, even drunk. The extra rules were all about how to throw and where to stand.

Jet signed the player box, walked up to the throw line, then turned his back on the target. He tossed the dart over his shoulder, holding it between index and middle finger, instead of the standard grip with thumb and first two fingers. It stuck. “Ha!”

AJ nodded. “Good, good. But not great.” He took his turn and tossed the dart over his shoulder. It stuck in the section usually called ‘double twenty.’ “Double top! Beat that.”

They continued to take turns through the three darts; when added up, AJ beat Jet by ten points which called for more drinks. Jet, as loser, was left paying for the round.

Cosmo smirked at Jet, while AJ collected the pot. “Thank you, everyone, for the great pot. And that’ll teach you jerks to bet against me.” He divided the money up but was refused; he dropped it on the table to pay for a round.

Jimmy chuckled then said, “More betting on Jet than against you, AJ.”

Remy tossed a quarter on the table.

Jet eyed it for a moment then said, “Really? Now we’re playing quarters?”

AJ smirked happily. “Sure are. And Remy will win. Always does.”

Tim, not quite drunk, announced, “Jet will win. He’s got a head like a rock.”

Cosmo replied, “Nope. Remy ... he never gets drunk. I think it’s something to do with his metabolism. Man burns alcohol like ... something that really burns it fast.”

.

Jet bounced the quarter off the table top, it plopped into the shot glass and he pointed to Remy, again. “Drink.”

Remy picked up the shot and downed it. “Mon Ami, I will not get drunk.” Remy smirked at Jet. Jet smirked right back and hit his mark again. Since he got to ‘flip and pick’ until he missed, he was picking on Remy almost exclusively. 

Remy downed his fifth shot in as many minutes. He had waited until he was sure of Jet’s technique; now, all he had to do was kick the table leg at the right time. 

His ploy succeeded, which made him the new flip master. 

He spread his wins among everyone, but he made sure that both Tim and Jimmy got a bit more than their fair share. He had plans. He didn’t want everyone blind drunk, anymore than Jet had. But he did want them well lubricated and uninhibited. 

AJ, knowing what Remy was doing, didn’t jiggle the table or pull any of the other distracting maneuvers he usually used. 

It didn’t take long for everyone to be uninhibited enough to laugh too loudly, talk too fast, and share stories that they usually wouldn’t have. Just what Remy wanted.

AJ laughed a bit too loudly but no one much cared. It was a bar, after all, and drunken revelry was the theme of the day. 

More snacks arrived, more because they all had the munchies than that they wanted to absorb the liquor. 

“Jet, we know you were black ops in your day. Any stories you can share?” Remy managed a puppy-like hopeful look, more reminiscent of Dean than anything he usually managed.

Jet sighed. “I’d love to share stories but ... anything I was involved in is still classified. Probably will be until the next century. But ...” he grinned. “I have some great stories about Tim ... and AJ. See, we had a ‘chute fail. Man actually ice-picked an SUV, with a Captain’s daughter in it. Her date ...” he made a sound usually written as ‘pfut’. He went on to tell the story of the chute packer, switched chutes, and drug smuggling and ended, “so there went AJ, out the door. I could hear him laughing and cussing; all I was worried about was the landing.” He eyed AJ. “Asshat. I really was worried.”

“I know. Sorry, Boss. But ...” he couldn’t manage anything else as he was laughing as hard as the rest of them. 

Jet snorted softly. “Well, okay. So ...”

They were interrupted by a particularly loud voice from the next table over, penetrating through the background roar. “I’ve got a brand new nine mike-mike. Wanna see it?” The comment hadn't been meant for them, but they couldn't help but hear him.

AJ’s eyes widened in incredulity. He started to snicker, followed by every SEAL at the table, and Jet. Tim choked on the shot he was swallowing while Jimmy blinked rather blankly.

Remy snickered, “Nine mike-mike? OhmuGod.”

Cosmo nodded drunkenly then added, “Seriously? Dude.”

Dean just howled with laughter and slapped the table a couple of times. 

Tim and AJ exchanged glances then turned to eye the speaker with unfeigned disgust. 

Jet shook his head then leaned over to Jimmy. “Really, that’s just pitiful. You knew better even before you got trained.”

Jimmy couldn’t help his reply of, “Didn’t want a head slap from Ducky. He’d clobber me for being ... pretentious.” He thought for a moment. “Or something.”

Dean agreed, “Or something.”

The idiot overheard all this and turned around. He was young but big, and thick through the shoulders, and thought he was trained. “You got a problem? Not up on the latest military usage?” He smirked. 

Normally they'd have kept their thoughts to themselves, but a good deal of liquor had already been consumed. AJ sighed. “No, just don’t like it when some jackass like you gets all wanna-be and sounds like an idiot.”

Jet finished a shot then said, “Give it up, AJ. Knot-heads like that never learn.”

Remy nodded his agreement, adding, “True fact. Only way to get through to someone like him will get you up on charges of ... assault? Or attempted murder or manslaughter?”

Jet shrugged. “Only if you smack the idiot first.”

Dean, actually attempting to defuse the situation, asked, “Um ... what’s your name anyway? We can’t keep calling you Wanna-be Joe.”

Wanna-be Joe, whose name turned out to be George Stark, stood up. “George ... Stark. Who are you jerks?”

AJ made quick introductions by waving one hand and announcing, “SEALs.” He pointed to Jet. “Except for him. He’s a Marine.”

George zeroed in on Tim and Jimmy. “Civilians,” he sneered at them.

Remy shook his head sadly. “Too true, too true. But either one of them can kick your ass.”

Dean and Cosmo agreed loudly. George just bristled, obviously itching for a fight.

AJ eyed the group for a second. “Let’s take all this outside. Don’t want to be banned for destroying the room.” By now, everyone in the bar knew something was going down. Most even knew what. It seemed that George was not a popular person with most. 

George snorted rudely, “Scared?”

Jet stood up. “No. But we’re not wrecking the man’s bar because you’re an idiot showoff. Out. Now.” And with that they all trooped out into the parking lot, half the bar following them. The other half, minus a few too drunk to care, crowded around the windows. 

The first thing that happened then was a bit of a surprise. Without any warning, George took a swing at Tim, drawing boos and catcalls from the surrounding onlookers. These quickly changed to cheers and laughter as Tim, not expecting anything, just ducked under it. Then he grabbed the arm, locked it, and tossed George over his back and onto the pavement. “Excuse me? What the fuck!”

George grunted in pain, then rolled over and tried to get to his feet. The skinny one with glasses leaned over him and advised, “I’d stay down if I were you. AJ and Jet both look pissed. Not good.” He nodded once. “Good advice.” Murmurs of agreement accompanied his words.

George, instead of taking good advice, took a swing at Jimmy, who just backpedaled to get out of arm's reach, leaving George still flat on the pavement to mutters of disgust from the audience. 

Dean shook his head at that. “Stupid. Gremlin is really good-natured.”

Cosmo agreed. “That he is. But you know how that goes.”

Remy sighed. “I do. He’ll put up with a lot; but once he’s mad, it’s all over but the cryin’.”

Jet eyed George, then said, “Get up. Look like an idiot layin’ there. Man up.”

George struggled to his feet, proving that all his muscle was for show, not go. 

Tim looked around, worried that they would get into trouble for the fight. The crowd around them had fallen silent, waiting to see what would happen next. This was better entertainment than the game on the bar's TV.

Jet shook his head at him. “Don’t worry. As long as it doesn’t get out of hand, no one’s gonna say anything.” He smirked rather evilly. “Half the guys here are some sort of cop or other. The other half are Feds.”

Jimmy kept his attention where it belonged, on his opponent. Tim hovered a bit.

George finally managed to get his senses in order again, a somewhat difficult endeavor, as he was drunk and winded. Landing flat on one’s back will do that to a person—the winded part; he'd already been drunk, or he'd never have been there in the first place.

Tim flicked his gaze to Jet; he wasn’t sure what he should do. It seemed that George had changed his target from Tim to Jimmy as he took another swing at the slighter man. Jet just shrugged and called over, “Let them sort themselves out. Jump in if you’re needed.”

George didn’t realize that he’d really picked on the wrong ‘geek.’ Jimmy was actually a doctor, with a doctor’s knowledge of pressure points and joint weaknesses, knowledge which he took full advantage of. 

The musculocutaneous nerve runs through the under, or armpit, side of the upper arm; pressure on this nerve can cause paralysis of the arm and, when enough pressure is applied, extreme pain. George found this out the hard way when Jimmy grabbed his arm, applied pressure, then told him, “I can keep this up a very long time. Can you? If you can’t, just slap out. I’ll let you go. And you’ll go ... away. Got me?” George found out that Jimmy had a ‘gorilla’ grip when the pain in his arm drove him to his knees. 

Dean cheered, “Get ‘im, Gremlin. Let him know who’s boss.”

Remy watched proudly and told the man next to him. “He’s our medic.”

He got a wide-eyed look and a muttered return, “Some medic.”

Cosmo nodded. “He is that. I’d hate to see what he might do to someone who threatened his patient.”

Jet chuckled softly. “Not to mention that Digimon is our resident computer geek.”

Tim, meanwhile, was waiting to see if Jimmy needed any help. But the results of being trained by SEALs was, Jimmy was like a dragster called a tired tiger. His looks were deceiving. 

George gave up with a whimper, “I give, I give.” Jimmy let go, moving out of arm's reach quickly, in case the idiot was a liar as well as a fool. The watching crowd murmured their approval, and started to drift away, since the excitement seemed to be over.

Jet looked the group over, picked the least drunk cop and told him, “You really ought to check to make sure that that idiot isn’t packing. Where is this ...” he snickered, “…nine mike-mike of his?”

The cop choked as he tried not to laugh. “You’re right.” He ambled over, poked George, showed his credentials and demanded, “Need to see this sidearm of yours.”

Everyone gathered around once more to see what was going on as Officer Dickerson followed George to his car. He opened the trunk and produced a gun case. “Here. It’s all legal. If you wanted to see it, all you had to do was ask.” His attempt to regain his dignity was ruined immediately, as soon as he opened the case. 

Officer Dickerson eyed the mother-of-pearl grips, chrome-plated frame, and badly engraved slide and started laughing. He laughed so hard he nearly fell down. 

Remy plucked the thing from Dickerson’s hand, checked to make sure it wasn’t loaded, then handed it off to Dean. Dean handed it on and the thing made the rounds, leaving near hysterical laughter in its wake. 

Totally embarrassed and finally aware that he was way out of his league, George collected his trash, got into his car, and left.

Remy stretched idly, displaying hard abs and a scar which was usually hidden by his waistband.

Jimmy eyed it for a second then asked, “How the hell did you get that?”

Remy pulled his pants up. “Got impaled.”

Dean sighed. “Man, Remy, you’re as bad as Jet. AJ’s right, you’re both functional mutes.”

Jet exclaimed, “Hey!”

AJ nodded several times, looking surprisingly like a bobble-head. “I am. They are. Let’s go back inside.”

As they trooped back, several men continued to snicker occasionally. Their amusement at George made a happy group.

The group of SEALs, and their companions, settled at their table again. Another round of Guinness had everyone mellowed out from their little adventure with George, although everyone continued to have a small snicker-fit once in a while.

They went another round of darts, this time between Tim and Jimmy, without AJ’s odd rules. The ensuing laugher and banter relaxed the rest of the bar. Men who laughed like that weren’t going to start a fight.

Jimmy nodded at Remy. “Ok. Story time. I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

Cosmo cracked up. “Not droppin’ my drawers here in a bar.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d implied. “No! Not that. Scars. I meant scars. I’d never...” he trailed off, realizing that Cosmo was teasing him. “Asshole.”

“I am. But then, you knew that.” Cosmo finished his drink, then lifted his sleeve. “See there?” he pointed at a small scar. “A damn doll exploded on me. Seriously.”

Tim eyed the scar. It wasn’t that big, but it was fairly nasty-looking. “A doll?”

So Cosmo told the story of picking up an innocent-seeming doll and having it explode in his hand. The only thing that saved his fingers was the fact that he was wearing heavy gloves, and the explosive charge was intended for a child, not a full-grown man wearing combat armor. He finished, “True fact. All I got was a piece of shrapnel in the arm ... and gut. And it only went in a bit. Picked it out with my K-Bar.” He pulled his t-shirt up to show a scar on his side.

Jimmy said, “Ew. Not sanitary.”

Cosmo shook his head. “Was. Hand sanitizer.”

This was met with the contempt it deserved. “Pah! Not good enough. It’s a wonder you guys don’t die of gangrene or something.”

Jet shrugged this off. “Nope. Germs are scared of us. See here?” he pulled his shirt out of his waistband and pointed. There was a scar that started just left of his right hip bone and disappeared into his waist band.

Jimmy eyed it then demanded, “What the hell is it with you guys and getting stuck in the gut?”

Shamefaced looks greeted this question. AJ finally answered. “Probably because we’re so busy covering up our pretty faces.”

This was greeted with drunken outrage and snickers. A few even came from other tables. They weren’t trying to keep their voices down.

Jet looked the group over then announced, “Last round. My place.” Everyone took this to mean that they were to finish what they were drinking and leave, which they did.

No one was a bit surprised to find that there was a party bus waiting for them. They’d all come in cabs, as they’d been planning to be drunk when they left, and no one was stupid enough to believe that they were safe driving drunk. 

The driver, used to dealing with drunks, was ready for the group. “Okay, people, we need to get on in an orderly fashion. I don’t want anyone falling on the steps. Then please buckle your seat belts until we’re up to speed, then you can get up and move around. Make sure that you keep hold of the various safety handles.” He was surprised to see that the men lined up and boarded quickly and quietly, although they were still obviously tanked.

As they settled into seats, Dean and Remy turned a bit green. AJ noticed and barked, “You are not to puke in the bus. Just don’t.” 

The driver turned around in his seat and told them, “There’s barf bags all over; just use one of those.”

Tim eyed them then said, “I thought Remy didn’t get drunk?”

Remy sighed, burped, then said, “Remy don’t. But he ate too much.”

AJ snorted. “Oh, you are definitely drunk. You’re talkin’ like a Cajun.”

Remy greeted that with the dignity it deserved; he gave AJ the finger. But he looked for a bag just the same.

Dean didn’t bother to argue, he just got a bag and settled back. He also wished he hadn’t had quite so much to drink.

Cosmo, AJ, Jet, and, surprisingly, Jimmy didn’t seem bothered at all. Tim was very green in no time at all. The swaying of the bus resembled a PT boat in high seas too much for his comfort. And he got seasick on a ferry in calm water!

Jimmy poked Tim. “Breathe. Don’t hold your breath. You’ll be okay. We’re going to Jet’s place.” He squinted blearily at his watch. “About 15 minutes.”

Tim nodded then grumbled, “How did this hit us all so hard? I usually don’t get falling down after two drinks.”

AJ snorted. “That’s a hoot. Only had two. How many times have I heard that one?”

Everyone looked at him expectantly; this was the time for stories after all.

“Okay, okay. Every damn time a patrol officer stops a drunk and asks how many they’ve had, the answer is always, ‘But Officer, I only had a couple. I can’t be drunk.’” AJ made a face.

Cosmo interjected, “Yeah, only had a couple. A couple of pitchers. Maybe.”

Everyone laughed at that, even the driver.

Jet’s sour expression had Jimmy asking, “Don’t like that look, Jet. What?”

“Just thinking.”

Dean nodded. “Not good when you’re drunk.”

Jet chuckled a bit darkly. “Know what I really hate?”

Remy shuddered. “Prob’ly same thing we do. Hate it when someone ask, have you ever shot/killed anyone.”

Jet nodded. “What the hell kind of question is that to ask a soldier, cop, or fed?”

Everyone agreed with that, but the comment had put a bit of a wet blanket on the party. The driver decided to lighten the mood with some music. Everyone settled back to listen.

The classic piano music led to another question. Jimmy jiggled AJ. “You play. When did you learn?”

“When I was a kid. Mom used to dress me up in sailor suits ... can you imagine? ... and have me do recitals. When I went to boarding school, I kept up lessons because I felt closer to Mom. In college, I played Honky-tonk for tips. And it relaxes me.” He shrugged easily. “If you like, I’ll play for you sometime.”

Dean snorted. “You play all the time, but you play on that keyboard or silence Jet’s piano. Don’t want to presume.”

AJ opened one eye. “Don’t want to annoy everyone with it.”

Various rude noises greeted this. Jet added, “If you annoy us, we’ll let you know. Stop hiding your talent.”

“Ok, ok. I’ll play for you when I’m not so wasted.” He settled back and closed his eyes; coming down from a drunk was, as Dean would say, ‘so not fun.’

.

Jet eyed the group with a rather jaundiced eye. “Squids just can’t hold their booze. Up! We’re home!” 

They all trooped off the bus and into the house. Jet paused to pay the driver and give him a tip. 

“Thank you, sir.” The driver offered Jet a ‘boy scout’ salute.

Jet grinned, that crooked one that made him look terribly boyish. “Don’t call me sir; I work for a living.” He nodded, then headed for the house. 

He entered the living room and chuckled at the sight: everyone was sprawled on something, chair, couch, floor; all he could see were relaxed bodies.

Remy glanced at him then said, “You gonna tell us how you nearly got gutted?”

Jet snorted. “Not much to tell. I was playing sandlot baseball with some friends. Seems some ballbag decided that it would be a good idea to break a bottle near second base. Whoever cleaned it up missed a piece. I found it, sliding into base. Dad near had a coronary. Took a bunch of stitches, but it wasn’t very deep.”

Jimmy rolled up his sleeve. He pointed to a small scar on his biceps. “This one was deep. My cousin thought it’d be a great idea to play knights and dragons. With me as the dragon. He stabbed me with a spear. A real one. No idea where he got it. Only three stitches, but it went nearly all the way through. Needless to say, he’s not one of my favorite cousins to this day.”

AJ shrugged. “You all know about mine. I’m not going into details; nasty. But I’ve been blown up.”

Remy held up his hand. “Me too. Same time as AJ.”

Cosmo shook his head. “Before my time.”

Dean agreed. “Mine, too.”

They all fell silent, drunken brains trying to process. Jimmy finally said, “I’ve never been blown up. Don’t think I’d like it.”

Tim nodded. “Me neither. To both.”

Cosmo took this moment to throw out a completely unrelated remark. “Bucket list.”

AJ blinked at him. “‘Scuse me?”

Cosmo nodded once. “Bucket list. All of us. Make one, I mean.”

This led to a scramble for paper and pens. Jet snorted at the childishness, trying not to laugh.

“Jet, give it up. Laugh already. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Dean’s smirk made Jet finally give up, and he laughed.

They were beginning to sober up, now in that place where they weren’t really drunk, but they weren’t sober either. Jimmy handed around water bottles, demanding, “Drink up. We’ll do the bucket lists, then more stories. Then bed.”

Remy nodded. “Yes, Dad,” he replied, but he laughed.

They all finished their lists, after AJ told them, “Only five things. If we all agree on anything, we’ll try to get it done.”

There was a bit of mocking cheering while everyone made out their list. Jet collected them and put the pages on the sideboard. “We’ll look those over tomorrow. We’re too plastered to do it tonight. Now. Dean. How the hell did you get that scar on your shin?”

Dean shrugged. “Actually tripped over a wall and fell on my damn face. Limped around for three days. Got a purple heart an’ everything.”

AJ added, “Didn’t hurt that we were under fire at the time and he was draggin’ some POG with ‘im.”

Dean whined, “But, AJ, what the hell was I supposed to do? Couldn’t let that numbskull get killed.”

“No, no you couldn’t. But ... damn it, you need to watch where you’re puttin’ those number nines.” AJ whacked Dean on the shoulder.

Dean just grumbled. “Ow,” and pointed to Jimmy. “You got any other scars?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Nope. Lucky, I guess.”

Remy eyed Tim carefully. “What the hell?”

Tim put his hand on his neck. “What?” He fingered the place for a moment. “Oh, that. Butch bit me.”

Dean, who’d wrestled the dog many times, blinked, then asked, “Why’d he do that?”

AJ eyed the scar for a moment then said, “Man, I didn’t think it was that bad. That’s really ... bad.”

Tim pulled his collar aside. The scar wasn’t much, just four puncture wounds at the juncture of Tim’s neck and shoulder. “That’s not the bad one.” He rolled up his sleeve. “This one was a bitch.” This scar was nearly two inches long, ragged-looking. “Took eight stitches to close.” 

Jet took Tim’s arm in one hand, then traced the scar with one finger of the other. “Tim, damn it. Why didn’t you say something? This is a lot worse than ... shit.”

Tim took his arm back. “It ... I ... you were so focused on the case, I didn’t see any use. Ducky fixed me up, gave me a shot, and it was all good.”

Jet made a face. “No it wasn’t.”

AJ just said, “Water under the bridge. Do better.”

Dean nodded. “So true. So ... Jet, got blown up?”

AJ nodded, “So did I.”

Jet eyed him for a moment then said, “Yes, yes you did. But I got blown up, concussed, and got amnesia.” He paused until everyone was silent and looking at him, then he held up two fingers. “Twice.”

The moaning and bitching was epic. Everyone agreed that Jet had them all topped in a contest of ‘top this one.’ 

The last order of the day was issued by Jimmy. “Everyone drink at least a quart of water. If you wake up with a hangover from hell ... well, I feel for you, but I can’t quite reach you.”  
.

When I was younger, I was ‘involved’ in drag racing. A tired tiger is a dragster that is all engine and ‘dirty’. In other words, the body hasn’t been worked on and is still mostly Bondo and primer. 

 

This story has fought me every inch of the way. I don’t drink a lot and find drunken revelry harder to write than I expected. Sorry.


End file.
